


Constellations upon your skin

by Lilibet



Series: October 2020 prompts [5]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: But lets be honest, Established Relationship, Flufftober 2020, Jinnobi Challenge 2020, M/M, Qui-Gon Jinn Lives, Qui-Gon is hot for Obi-Wan, Who Isn't?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:28:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26822173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilibet/pseuds/Lilibet
Summary: When he raises his gaze to Obi-Wan’s face, Qui-Gon can only stare. A metal circlet of golden leaves rests upon his head, highlighting his auburn hair, but what catches Qui-Gon’s attention is the freckles. They shine and sparkle with glitter painstakingly painted on each one, like constellations on his skin, and Qui-Gon is utterly enchanted.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: October 2020 prompts [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949062
Comments: 11
Kudos: 73





	Constellations upon your skin

**Author's Note:**

> For the flufftober 2020 day 5 prompt "sparkle". Enjoy!

Qui-Gon feels lightheaded and it takes him a solid minute to realise it’s because he’s holding his breath. Normally he’d scold himself for being so unaware of his surroundings, but right now he’d challenge anybody to tear their attention away from the sight currently walking down the ballroom steps.

Obi-Wan is captivating. Well, he’s always captivating, having thoroughly ensnared Qui-Gon’s heart many years ago, but he’s especially so this evening.

As he descends the steps into the senatorial gala, Qui-Gon can’t look away. The words coming out of the senator’s mouth he was talking to drone into the background and he doesn’t notice when they give him a knowing smile and politely excuse themselves.

Obi-Wan is draped in the same sheer fabric as Qui-Gon himself, but the fabric clings to the contours of his body in a way Qui-Gon can only dream of. It’s a simple piece of clothing, two long pieces of fabric draped over the shoulders and cinched in at the waist, but it accentuates Obi-Wan’s upper body beautifully, and Qui-Gon has to stop himself from physically drooling at the delicate collarbones so rarely on show.

The fabric is a beautiful sky-blue, bringing out the striking colour of Obi-Wan’s eyes, that morphs into a deep indigo as Qui-Gon trails his gaze down Obi-Wan’s body. The gossamer fabric slips between Obi-Wan’s legs as he takes each step, his sculpted legs appearing and disappearing in a sensual tease.

When he raises his gaze to Obi-Wan’s face, Qui-Gon can only stare. A metal circlet of golden leaves rests upon his head, highlighting his auburn hair, but what catches Qui-Gon’s attention is the freckles. They shine and sparkle with glitter painstakingly painted on each one, like constellations on his skin, and Qui-Gon is utterly enchanted.

His heart thumps in his chest and his mouth suddenly feels dry.

He watches as Obi-Wan reaches the bottom of the staircase and shyly greets the prime minister, probably thanking him for the invitation to the treaty celebrations, but Qui-Gon is unashamed to realise he couldn’t care less right now.

His breath hitches in his throat when Obi-Wan flicks his gaze over to Qui-Gon across the room, looking at him coyly through his lashes before returning his attention to the prime minister. No one else would be able to see it, but Qui-Gon can see the smug curl that appears at the edge of Obi-Wan’s smile.

He swallows hard. He’s fucked.

A waiter brushes past him and he reflexively snatches a glass flute off the tray they’re carrying and downs the fizzy golden liquid in one swallow, not caring what it is but needing something to calm the butterflies in his stomach and the rabbiting of his heart.

Obi-Wan continues greeting the politicians, much to Qui-Gon’s chagrin. His hands itch to touch Obi-Wan’s skin, to strip him out of his clothes to reveal the body he knows so intimately until only the shimmering freckles remain. They make him look almost otherworldly and all Qui-Gon can think about is how he’d look sprawled out on the giant bed in their guest quarters, hands fisted in the sheets and wailing out his pleasure as Qui-Gon takes him apart again and again.

He tries to look away, bring his attention back to the room around him, speak and mingle with the other guests, but his gaze is inexorably drawn back to Obi-Wan. A problem which seems to be affecting nearly everyone else in the room as well.

Qui-Gon relishes in the delicious satisfaction that they will only ever be able to look at Obi-Wan, to admire his beauty and grace from afar, while only Qui-Gon alone has the privilege to touch. To know Obi-Wan intimately, in every carnal way they can imagine.

When Obi-Wan finally appears in front of him, a mischievous smile gracing his lips, Qui-Gon can’t find his words. Obi-Wan’s more beautiful up close, if that’s even possible.

Obi-Wan’s smile widens as if he knows exactly what Qui-Gon is thinking, before he bows and offers his hand.

“Would you care for a dance, Mr Jedi?”

For a second, Qui-Gon frowns in confusion at Obi-Wan’s words, before he gives a polite smile and accepts his outstretched hand.

“That is very gracious of you, Mr...?”

Obi-Wan’s hand is warm in his as he leads him to the centre of the room.

“Please, call me Obi-Wan,”

“Very well,”

They join the other couples on ballroom floor and Obi-Wan takes the lead, grasping Qui-Gon’s right hand in his left and placing the other on Qui-Gon’s waist.

The music morphs into an upbeat jig and Obi-Wan sweeps them across the room, steps never faltering and with a confidence that only serves to make Qui-Gon hot under the figurative collar. Obi-Wan has always been a graceful dancer, but to experience it first-hand is a whole other thing to contend with.

“I must say, I had no idea Jedi knew how to dance so well,” Obi-Wan inquires, voice laced with an innocence Qui-Gon is utterly unconvinced by.

“I could say the same about senators,” Qui-Gon replies dryly.

This game is one they rarely have chance to play, but Qui-Gon thinks that’s part of what makes it so enjoyable when they do. Obi-Wan had first introduced the idea of pretending to be strangers several years ago in the middle of a mission not dissimilar to this one. He’d played the part of a haughty senator so spectacularly it had ended with Qui-Gon frantically taking him against the wall of an empty corridor in the middle of the palace.

Arousal blooms in Qui-Gon’s gut at the memory and he takes a deep breath to calm himself. These clothes aren’t exactly conducive to hiding an erection, and he’s already been half hard since Obi-Wan entered the room.

Obi-Wan smirks at him again and Qui-Gon mentally curses him and his ability to somehow know exactly what’s going through Qui-Gon’s mind at any given moment. Sometimes he swears he’s telepathic and just hasn’t told Qui-Gon to mess with him.

The dance continues, both of them exchanging charged barbs about topics from politics to philosophy, Obi-Wan knowing exactly what to say to rile Qui-Gon up. He falls for the bait every time, but this is a game he’d happily lose, knowing what will happen when they’re finally alone.

When the music reaches its crescendo, the final steps complete and applause filling the room, they stare at each other, both breathing heavily and not wholly because of the dancing.

A delightful blush covers Obi-Wan’s cheeks and Qui-Gon is sure he looks in a similar state. Lost in their own world, it takes them longer than they should to shake themselves out of their stupor and bow to each other before parting.

They don’t cross paths for the rest of the evening, instead stealing covert glances across the room as they talk and mingle with the other guests. Another part of their game to ratchet up the tension, and Qui-Gon can feel himself getting more restless and jittery from the feeling of eyes on the back of his head or trailing leisurely over his body.

Maker knows he’s doing the same to Obi-Wan whenever he has his back turned.

He can sense Obi-Wan’s feeling exactly as he is, if the trickles of desire and anticipation that leak down their bond is any indication.

The night wears on. Slowly.

It feels like an eternity later when the prime minister finally makes his speech thanking them for their assistance and celebrating the successful treaty signing. The room erupts into cheers and applause and apparently Obi-Wan takes that as his cue because not a minute after the speech has finished Qui-Gon is being subtly but firmly dragged by his hand towards the nearest exit.

He hides his sniggers behind his glass, which is immediately removed from his hand as soon as they’re out of the ballroom. Obi-Wan spins round and roughly pushes Qui-Gon against the wall next to the entrance, plastering himself against Qui-Gon’s front and claiming his lips in a searing kiss.

It’s open-mouthed and desperate and Qui-Gon groans when Obi-Wan slips his tongue into his mouth at the same time as he shoves his thigh between his legs. Qui-Gon grinds down against the firm muscle, hands grasping Obi-Wan’s hips to pull him closer.

“Do you have. Any idea. How fucking. Delectable. You look.”

Obi-Wan grinds the words out between kisses, ending his sentence with a vicious bite to Qui-Gon’s bottom lip. The sharp tase of iron in his mouth only makes Qui-Gon hotter and he groans as he yanks Obi-Wan even closer to him, his grip on his hips sure to leave bruises come morning.

The teeth continue their trail along his jaw and down his neck, sucking and biting bruises into the delicate skin, and Qui-Gon lets his head fall back to thud against the wall.

“Not as delectable as you,” Qui-Gon moans breathlessly.

The mix of Obi-Wan’s teeth and tongue on his neck is driving him mad and if they don’t get around to the fucking part of the night in the next five minutes Qui-Gon thinks he’s going to die.

He says as much and Obi-Wan chuckles darkly and pulls back. The enigmatic look in his eyes makes Qui-Gon weak in the knees and he swallows as he realises that he is so utterly and completely at Obi-Wan’s mercy.

Obi-Wan leans in until his mouth is a hairsbreadth away from his ear, his breath ghosting over the skin.

“I think it’s time we see whether your Jedi stamina is as spectacular as it’s renowned to be, hm?”

Qui-Gon can’t help the moan that bursts from his throat at those words, Obi-Wan’s seductive tone sliding over his skin and promising all manner of delicious things in the near future.

He doesn’t think he’s going to survive the night.

\--

He doesn’t.

But maker was it worth it.


End file.
